Tess of the Hardys
by fleur de l'est
Summary: Tess's dramatic monologue.


**Phase the First: The Maiden**

Well. Where should I start? For sixteen years nothing  
happened in my life, then this nosy parson tore it all apart  
by telling daddy he was no poor drunkard, but rather Sir  
John something-or-other: which tickled his proud,  
lower-class heart. And O how, since, are the mighty fallen!  
One lesson we've all learnt: daddy wasn't smart.

So off they sent me to this rich guy whom mum and  
dad wanted me to marry - and I? I never said yes,  
but I said no in various positive ways. I didn't let him  
kiss me - but aye, in the end I did. I could have pushed  
him off a horse half-asleep, but I held onto him that night.  
Got laid,---------------------------------------------

**Phase the Second: Maiden No More**

---------got paid. A month later I said to him - 'You lied.'

And then I left, came home all alone, saw a red  
paint-pot man condemning adultery. Religion is a drone,  
I made my point clear; I said to the parson, 'I hate  
your Church.' I had a baby, who fell ill out of the blue, I moaned,  
rightfully named him Sorrow. Conveniently (for Hardy)  
Sorrow died. And for a further two years I moaned.

**Phase the Third: The Rally**

Got to get a move-on. Couldn't live off my parents  
all my life; parents these days. Couldn't be another man's  
mistress; men these days. So in this jolly phase I made  
my own living, and met a lovely gentleman. What son of a  
clergyman wouldn't be learning to milk cows? I was dazed  
a little. Again. Oh yeah, and he'd been to my village before.  
Good times - virginal and simple times, I remember that day  
as though it were yesterday. He danced with every girl  
in town, but me. The unclichéd hands of fate.

I was a stunning daughter of nature to him, simple  
and innocent (_oh_ dear). He loved it when I milked, skimmed,  
said I lived a life of poetry. We went on walks alone -  
discreetly enough - early in the morning. I was Eve,  
he was Adam, he said. I picked up his posh accent  
too, dear listener, the one with which I now talk to you.  
We fell in love - he thought I was some goddess, and I  
thought he was some god - well, that part was true.

**Phase the Fourth: The Consequence**

He proposed to me. But you see back in my days  
men were a bit off; wouldn't want you if you'd had  
an ex. I thought maybe I should confess honestly  
my great sin of having had a boyfriend before - or getting  
raped as some seem to think. But I, a pure woman indeed,  
was not true to my pure instincts (valid excuse this).  
And plus, mum said there was no need. So we got married.

**Phase the Fifth: The Woman Pays**

But I couldn't keep my sexily rosy and excessively  
closely described mouth shut. I told him on our  
wedding night. He thought '_Christ_ what do I do -  
pop into her bed, or be a snob and walk away?'  
Then he must have remembered the sight  
of my pretty face, and turned upstairs. But hey,  
the story of my life, he saw this giant ugly painting  
and decided, 'I'd rather be a snob.' And went down again.  
On another fine night he sleepwalked  
and carried me outside. I wanted us both to die.  
No I didn't. Well, I say I didn't, but I kind of did.  
Anyway, he gave me fifty quid, and said goodbye.

He told his parents I was pure, and said I was  
free to ask them for money (while he was in Brazil),  
though loneliness I must endure. But I thought since  
I'd already been dumped, I might as well starve  
and be poor. I wasn't the first girl to have gone mental  
over him. Stupidity was contagious for sure.

I got a job on this bleak farm, my boss just happened  
to have been punched in the face by my husband  
and, poor man, he must have been really confused  
by how much my looks had worsened. When he bumped  
into me last Christmas I was a comely maid (or not  
a maid, as he helpfully pointed out) - now my eyebrows  
were gone. I nipped them off. What a virtuous legend.  
And here, I was in the company of one of the mental girls  
aforementioned, a friend from the dairy. It was like the  
old times, though my spirits less high, lips less crimson.

Then I somehow overcame my pride and set off to my  
in-laws to ask for money, but all that determination  
was gone the moment I saw the girl whom his parents  
so-adored, and he so-abhorred. She nicked my boots. I  
ran away. But lo and behold, guess what was more?

**Phase the Sixth: The Convert**

There he stood, my ex-boyfriend - who'd wrecked  
my life by taking me in when I went to claim kin -  
him, there he stood, righteous and good, spreading  
the word of the Lord. I would have raised an  
eyebrow - but of course I couldn't. And look, who  
else was there? Who but the red paint-pot man.  
I walked away, as a good Hardian woman should.

He caught up of course, was quite clingy. I tried  
to get rid of him by shocking him with my husband's  
inconceivably agnostic idea: [insert idea here].  
Though oops, I think I overdid it. Within the blink  
of an eye he'd abandoned his new-found faith, and  
clung to me even more. The future - _our_ future  
we both foresaw. I wrote to my hubby and warned  
him (plenty of notice this time round), though  
no loving letter ever arrived at my door.

Mum fell ill, I went home. Dad died, we had to move.  
Ex invited us to live in his mansion, I refused. We got a ride  
to this town - home of our ancestors (was mum trying  
to be funny when she picked the place?) - but they'd lied,  
we couldn't rent the house in the end. I'm just not  
surprised. My life over these last few years could have  
been an Australian soap. Or _The Truman Show_.  
And at this awkward moment of desperation, who,  
but the villain, would turn into my hero?

**Phase the Seventh: Fulfillment**

When he came back from Brazil, it was a bit  
too late. He'd been fickle - or fickle at the wrong  
time. He was not rich, not nice, not even that fit.  
The morning he found me, I was holidaying with  
my ex - gutted! But then, technically, was he not  
more truly my _ex_-ex? And knowing my yo-yo  
tendencies, I dumped my _ex_-ex for my ex.  
In fact, that was not enough, no. Murder had to  
come into this. _I_ have always been the violent one -  
seduced, not raped. You should know.

We ran off to this empty house, spent  
five days there. I screwed two men - _gentle_men -  
within a week, what mother wouldn't be proud?  
Then we walked on still to evade the police,  
and bingo, came to the exact spot of Stonehenge.  
I lie upon the altar now to sleep, I hear him say  
'let her sleep'. As my life plays before me now  
I see: it's been no melodrama; pure tragedy.


End file.
